


Lies and consequences

by Corelda



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corelda/pseuds/Corelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Blackwall's judgement, Cadash is faced with the consequences of the man's lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies and consequences

Fjalar Cadash burried his face against Cassandra’s throat and inhaled deeply. It had been such a long, horrendous day but here, now, lying with his lady on her bedroll in the room she had made for herself in Skyhold’s armory, he finally felt like as if he could relax. For the coming hours, the only thing that mattered was the two of them. Nuzzling the spot below his lady’s ear, Fjalar pressed a soft kiss against her skin. He stroke it with his tongue tip; he knew it was a sensitive spot for her. But the low moan of encouragement he expected never came, and instead Cassandra pushed him until he rolled off her with a puzzled expression.  
  
“I’m not in the mood tonight,” she explained stiffly. To further her point, she picked up a book – the Inquisitor recognized the cover of the last _Swords and Shields_ – and began to read.  
   
Fjalar frowned but nodded. “Alright. I’ll just lie by your side then.”  
  
“Actually, it has been some time now since the workers started to work on the stained-glass windows you got from Serault. They must be done by now, so maybe you should give your room a new try,” she answered without looking up.  
  
The Inquisitor blinked, his confusion reaching a new height. Cass and he had used the replacement of the windows in his room as their favorite pretext for spending their nights together. No one had been taken by that, Josephine and Leliana less than anyone, but it had become something of a running joke in Skyhold.  
  
“W-wait, you’re kicking me out?” He swallowed, his throat dry and parched. “What did I do wrong, Cass? My lady?”  
  
“I think you know the answer already,” Cassandra snapped. “If not, you’ll have the full night to figure it out. Good night, Fjalar.”  
  
He wanted to protest, to argue, but Cass now had that hard look on her face, the one she got when she was seething with anger in the inside and on the edge from hitting something. Maybe it was better to beat a retreat after all; Fjalar awkwardly got up, grabbed his boots and put them on. He gave his lady a last sad, longing look, wished her a good sleep in a whisper and walked down the stairs, out of the armory.  
  
Nights in Skyhold were cold. Even the place’s micro-climate could nothing against the biting winds which came from the mountains, though they weren’t as bad as the ones howling in the valley. Fjalar blew on his hand and suppressed a shiver. Music and laughs came from the tavern, and for a moment he was tempted to go there; to drown his disappointment in a mug of ale, and maybe share sad love stories with Bull and his Chargers. But the dwarf shook his head and headed to the main building instead. Maybe he could do some paperwork, or read a book before catching a good night of sleep? He hadn’t begun the fourth chapter of _Swords and Shields_ yet.  
  
He had settled his minds on reading that book and was on his way to his room when sobs caught his attention. They seemed to come from Josephine’s desk and for a moment Fjalar’s blood froze – was Josie hurt? It wasn’t another assassin from the House of Repose, was it? Had they not gotten the note their bloody contract was now void? – before he almost kicked the door open.  
  
Inside Josephine jumped on her chair. “Inquisitor?” she stammered, before diverting her face. Fjalar caught the sight of a silk handkerchief disappearing in the sleeve of her dress.  
  
“I heard crying,” he explained sheepishly, his ears turning scarlet and hot, “and for a moment I feared someone had hurt you, so…”  
  
“So you decided to come in and save me?” Josephine finally looked at him; her eyes were red and swollen from too many tears shed and the smile she gave him was thin and frail. “You’re too kind, Inquisitor.”  
  
“I doubt the door is sharing your opinion,” he muttered. When she laughed, if only weakly, he walked to her desk. “What are you still doing here? The sun is long gone, shouldn’t be you off to your room?”  
  
“I could ask you the same thing,” Josephine answered. “Shouldn’t you be with Cassandra right now?”  
  
For a moment Fjalar didn’t answer. “It was decided we would sleep in our respective rooms for tonight,” he eventually said. His throat was dry and parched once more.  
  
“She’s not taking the reveal of Ser Blackwall’s true identity well, I take it?”  
  
“No, no she’s not,” the Inquisitor grimaced, while slapping himself hard in the inside. Now every piece of the puzzle fell in place. How could he be so bloody _blind?_ Cass and Blackwall were actually closer friends than he and the (false) Warden had ever been. If judging the man Thom Rainier had been an ordeal for him, the Maker only knew how his lady had felt about the whole mess. And Josephine! He had caught a few times Blackwall, Varric and Bull discussing the former’s feelings for the head diplomat of the Inquisition. On his daily trips to the war room, he had also often heard Josie’s discussions with her assistant about gifts she got from a ‘mysterious’ admirer… _Stupid, stupid boy! What kind of friend are you?_ “You’re not either, are you?” he asked nervously.  
  
The smile did not falter but Fjalar couldn’t miss the look of pain and sadness in her eyes. “It wasn’t a pleasant surprise,” Josephine admitted, always a professional, “and some of the alliances we built with the Orlesian nobility are now…”  
  
“I couldn’t give less a shit about those alliances,” he interrupted her. In other circumstances, the look she gave him would have been funny. Not tonight. “I’m asking you as Josephine Cherette Montilyet, not as my chief of diplomacy.” He took a sharp breath. “Are you holding up alright, Josie?”  
  
The thin, frail smile fell down. “It hurts,” Josephine whispered and for a moment, her eyes watered again. “I’m so angry and disappointed. With Rainier, with myself. We were…” She let out a brief, broken chuckle. “It was not like between you and Cassandra. Between us, it was ‘la splendeur des cœurs perdus’. Love acknowledged, but never consummated, even if we yearned for it. But it doesn’t matter anymore. The man I fell for was nothing but a lie, and…” A spasm of grief twisted her features. “And I do not want to bother you further, Inquisitor. I am grateful you took the time to listen to my rambling. I will head to my room, and try to catch some sleep.”  
  
“Or we could go to my room, and we could continue this conversation around a drink,” Fjalar offered with a warm smile. “It seems to me you could use a little more rambling, and I don’t mind listening.” _It’s not like you have anything better to do anyway_ , sniggered a little voice in the back of his head, but he pushed it away. “I have a bottle of Vint-9 Rowan’s Rose waiting to be shared. What do you think?”  
  
“Shouldn’t you keep this bottle as an offering of peace for Cassandra, Inquisitor?” Josephine narrowed her eyes, back in her role as an ambassador. “No mention it would be considered improper for me to join your quarters at nights. Just imagine the rumors, if it was known.”  
  
“Cass would prefer flowers actually,” the dwarf sighed, “and ‘rumors’ have already paired me with Dorian, so…”  
  
“Not only with Dorian actually; a number of people have also paired you with Leliana, Mother Giselle, the late Chancellor Roderick and some man who I am pretty sure never existed, whose name is Philip.”  
  
“Chancell—“ Fjalar let out a disgusted noise. “Oh for fuck’s sake!”  
  
“I think you can see my point now, Inquisitor.” Josephine sighed and rubbed her face wearily. “But if you really are interested in knowing more about the reasons of my grief, alright. I’ve got a letter from my family today. My parents have arranged for me to be engaged to a nobleman from my childhood, Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto of Antiva. While I have no objections to this wedding per se…”  
  
“The timing could hardly be worse. I understand.” Fjalar scratched his beard. “It’s always like that, isn’t it? You are sure things cannot be worse than they already are, yet something or someone somewhere finds a way to screw you further.”  
  
“Yes,” Josephine nodded slowly, “yes it is.” She forced herself to smile, pushed her shoulders back and tilted her chin up. “But talking about it helps, sometimes. Thank you, Cadash. You’re a sweetheart.”  
  
“I didn’t do much, really,” he shrugged. “But if you feel better, even a little, then I’m glad. And I should let you take some rest now, I guess. So I’ll see you tomorrow at the war meeting. But if you ever feel the need to talk more, my offer still stands.”  
  
“I will think about it. Until then – goodnight, Inquisitor Cadash.”  
  
“Goodnight, lady Montilyet.”  
  
They exchanged a smile and nod and Fjalar left the room. He finally took the direction of his own quarters, determined to read a few pages of Swords and Shields before falling asleep. He would have to wake up at dawn if he wanted to sneak out Skyhold, pick up some flowers for his lady and return before Cullen noticed he was gone – or else the general would launch a rescue mission. He was greeted on his way upstairs by the same bunch of crows cawing and flapping their black shiny wings like they always did when he was around – they were spying on him for Leliana, were they not? The thought sent a shiver down his spine and the dwarf bounded up the last steps.  
  
Later, the discussion with Josephine kept running through Fjalar’s minds long after he was done reading his share of the adventures of the knight-captain and her guardsman, preventing him from falling asleep for a time. He wanted to do something, anything. Surely there was a way to fix most things for the best, but which one? He closed his eyes to clear his mind and inhaled deeply. He needed to find that answer as fast as possible.  
  
He woke the day long after dawn, with the feeling of kisses and hot breath on his neck. The Inquisitor groaned softly and opened his eyes, and he saw Cassandra’s eyes gazing into his. “My lady?” he asked sleepily.  
  
She offered him a hesitant smile, one that spoke of hope and forgiveness. “My bedroll was cold when I woke up today,” she whispered.  
  
“So was my bed yesterday when I went to sleep,” he whispered back and pressed his nose against her. “I’m sorry, for upsetting you. I should have realized sooner.”  
  
“It’s fine.” Cassandra closed her eyes and sighed softly. She pressed a kiss on his forehead. “My anger wasn’t against you, Fjalar; I shouldn’t have taken it on you.”  
  
“It’s not like you didn’t have reasons,” he protested before stifling a yawn. “I am the one who passed the judgment. I allowed Rainier to stay within the Inquisition. It hurt you, and Josephine, and apparently the Orlesian nobility as well.” Fjalar closed his eyes and groaned. “Not that I care about the Orlesian nobility, mind you.”  
  
“Don’t you?”    
  
“I’m more worried about the amount of additional work it’ll mean for Josephine, actually.” The dwarf tilted his head for looking at Cassandra.  
  
“How does she feel?” she asked, before joining him under the blankets and hugging him tightly. She curled against his side and rested her head on his shoulder. Fjalar ran a hand up and down her arm, enjoying her proximity and her warmth at last, very grateful his lady had decided to set aside her armor this morning.  
  
“She’s sad and angry. She told me she had fallen for a lie.” The dwarf let out a heavy breath. “Maybe I’ve done a mistake by keeping the man with us. Actually, back when I was sitting on the throne… for a moment I toyed with the idea to make him join the Grey Wardens. I was thinking ‘If he wants so hard to be one, fine! Let him be!’” A grimace twisted his mouth. “Yet I changed my mind.”  
  
“Why? It would have been the perfect solution. A liar and murderer joining other liars and murderers.” The edge in his lady’s voice was sharper than a dragonbone blade. Fjalar pressed a kiss against her temple.  
  
“It would have been, yes. Expect I had the Wardens exiled from South Thedas after Adamant. It would have meant leaving Rainier to wander on his own for months until his arrival to Weisshaupt. It’s a long and dangerous trip, especially for a man alone. What if he had been captured for interrogation by the Venatori or the Red Templars on his way there? He’s part of my inner circle, and while I want to believe he would have never divulged anything that would put the Inquisition at risk on his own, there is nothing he would be able to do against blood magic.”  
  
“I suppose it makes sense,” Cassandra admitted reluctantly. “Keeping the Inquisition’s secrets safe at any costs, even if it means keeping Rainier with us….”  
  
“I could have executed him, too, but after all the favors we had to spend to save him from the noose, it just…it just felt like a waste of resources. Besides, for all his lies and crimes, the man shed his blood fighting by our side, for the Inquisition, and never complained once. That only would earn him some leniency, I suppose?”  
  
Cassandra let out a disgusted noise. “From me he’ll get none. I will not object on him travelling with us, if it is your choice, but I will not address him and I expect him not to speak to me at all. If he ever does, I won’t answer for the consequences.”  
  
Fjalar nodded slowly. “This is all I can ask of you. Thank you, my lady.”  
  
She hugged him once again, and they remained like this for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s company in a tender, comfortable silence. Eventually, it was Cassandra who broke the quietness, rising on an elbow as she looked around. “The work on your windows is really done,” she noticed. “The skills of the glassworkers of Serrault are unmatched. The colors are beautiful.”  
  
And they were. The sun was shining through the colored glass panes, projecting bright pictures on the stone around them. But Fjalar shook his head.  
  
“I still prefer sleeping in the armory, I admit. And we now need to find a new excuse to why I’ll spend my nights there with you.”  
  
His lady frowned thoughtfully, and then a smile went to her lips, so soft, so tender, so innocent yet he could see the grin behind - it made his blood simmer with anticipation. “Would a broken bed do?” she whispered.  
  
“I don’t know, Cass, it’s a dwarven bed – designed to last for centuries, at the very least.”  
  
“But we can still give it our best try, can we not?”  
  
“That we can, my lady,” he whispered before kissing her, “that we can.”


End file.
